Friday March 29th 2019.

Alun started with a Brian Bedford (the inventor of the van) song , “What’s the use” (of MPs?). The first drowning song of the night – hundreds lost off the East coast, was wrapped up in a jolly tune for us to get our vocal cords into gear.

We don’t see as much of Phil Williams as we’d like, but that’s how it is. Always something different; tonight we had material from Pink Floyd’s Dave Gilmour and some Eric Clapton. Brilliant photo, Ruth. It’s probably fair to say Phil’s musical influences are slightly different to those of Mr. West.

Or Brian. Tonight, trying to look the snappy dresser in his red suede boots, he was back hunting whales. In this one the whale won in extra time, a boatful of blokes being drowned.

EmCee was pushing them through at a rate. He’d been to “the lady on the corner” for (supposedly) a haircut. I don’t know what other “extras” she throws in, but the haircut was certainly better than those from elsewhere he’s had lately.

Adrian was another of the red shoes brigade. What is wrong with these people? He vehemently denied that his woollen garment was a tank top, describing it as a”short sleeved sweater”. The sleeves were non existent. It’s a tank top. Accept it. You have become Frank Spencer. There was trouble beginning the first song when the title, tune and words of the song eluded him. He says he definitely has gout.

There was more drowning from me with “The Bergen” -it’s a shame to hear such a lovely song crucified.

Thoughtfully, EmCee then brought on someone who can actually sing.




It’s difficult to believe that Ewan MacColl could write something as sensitive as “First time ever I saw your face”. Mike’s second song, “Last trip home” is about the Clydesdales being replaced by tractors (them presumably being made into supermarket own brand lasagne).

With T Gwyn away, the cultural spot belonged to Sheila, with excellent works written by Maya Angelou and Walter de la Mare (his poncey name was due to his conception under the pier in a North Somerset seaside resort on a dirty weekend).

This took us to the break. The Snowball was again not claimed, so rolls over to £45 next week. It’s looking good for a big final payout on AGM night (April 26th). If anyone fancies a go on the committee see Mike for a proposal form.

First up for the second half was blues legend  Arthritic Mango Clinton (the artist formerly known as Jeffrey Blythin).

His 3 character version of “The Tennessee Waltz” always goes down a storm. There were some interesting harmonies from the audience tonight. I think a further verse from the perspective of the bouncer who ejected the 2 blokes when the inevitable scuffle broke out may not be beyond Jeff’s capabilities.

Time left for one song each.

Alun had enlisted the help of a dancer to bring some added movement to his  totally competent but physically rather static performance. The lady gyrated erotically and wobbled her lady bumps almost in time to his song.

Adrian attempted to follow this with a song he described as “an extended metaphor”. What the ****!?

I had brought in half a dozen of my hens’ finest no- lion -stamped eggs for the raffle. Not a good idea as most of them were sent at high velocity in my direction as I attempted a shanty.

The whole second half was  a chorus fest, more “interesting” harmonies and great fun and lots of happy faces as people left.

If anyone is partial to a bit of concertina, here’s Brian, feeling the cold, with his coat on.



















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